


The Revolutionary Apocalypse

by megSUPERFAN



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Barricade Day 2020, Canon - Book, Gen, I aim to make people feel things, Poetry, Triumvirate deaths, brick references, let me know if I succeed, many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24311974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megSUPERFAN/pseuds/megSUPERFAN
Summary: A poem for Barricade Day. The deaths of Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras.
Relationships: Les Amis de l'ABC Friendship
Comments: 13
Kudos: 9





	The Revolutionary Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> I do have more Les Amis poems which will hopefully be posted in a collective thing soon, but I thought I'd post this one separately since it's my very first Barricade Day, and all that... Please read and enjoy!

The cries around him multiply-

He doesn’t  _ want _ them all to die-

_ Where is your hat? _ A comrade calls,

_ They’ve taken it with cannon-balls. _

The countless corpses, friends and foes-

His hand delivers killing blows,

While heart and soul in anguish crawl-

Pain deepens with each cannon-ball.

Around him bullets rage and pour-

His legs won’t hold him anymore,

A shot- and then- the center falls,

No longer plagued by cannon-balls.

The guide with vision faded, gone,

_A_ _tomb all flooded with the dawn_ ,

No hope- despair, no life- forget-

Falls pierced and red with bayonet.

_ My mother _ \-  _ mother… I prefer… _

_ My mother! I’ve forgotten her! _

He struggles, gasping, hurt, regret-

Defeated by the bayonet.

With eyes still fixed upon the sky

And  _ to be free  _ his silent cry-

The light will come… they’ll see it yet…

Last breath destroyed by bayonet.

_ It’s over _ . In the light he stands,

A broken weapon in his hands,

No tremor in his stance or eye,

A golden flower here to die.

Alone, a chief with people dead,

With folded arms, no joy ahead,

_So shoot me_ _now. Eyes covered? No._

A flower’s image set aglow,

Untouched by wound and wreathed in pride-

Apollo’s sun, a moon beside-

A smile, though the fight’s unwon.

A flower killed… twelve shots as one.


End file.
